


For Love We Will Tear Us Down

by Mnemoli



Series: Rogue Variable Side Stories [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Married Life, Meet-Cute, Pre-Canon, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-04-08 09:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19104217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnemoli/pseuds/Mnemoli
Summary: Side Story to "The Rogue Variable." Written to be read between volumes 2 and 3, but can be read at any time without too severe a consequence.Myra Taylor is a bartender and law student just struggling to get by. Nate Larimer is a decorated soldier desperately trying to find something in his life worth protecting. When one night in Revere brings them into each other's lives, everything changes.The story and chapter titles are lyrics from "The Game" by Mnemoli's favorite band, Poets of the Fall. She based her version of these characters heavily off of this song.





	1. She's Plastic, She's Speed-Read

**APRIL 18, 2076: Revere, MA**

* * *

 

Myra Taylor wasn’t having the best night, and the pathetic wad of cash in her tip jar certainly wasn’t doing much to improve her mood. So far, it wasn’t even enough to refill her gas tank. At this rate, she’d have to start walking to work, and the idea of hiking from Nahant to Revere just to sling drinks for rowdy tourists and unkempt locals was as unpleasant as it was impractical. Myra wasn’t sure how she was going to make this month’s tuition payment, if her customers kept holding out on her like this. Maybe she should try to pick up a third job. The Slocum’s Joe up in Lynn was always looking for help, and reeking of old fry oil was still better than stinking of fish from one of the seafood factories that dotted the coast. Besides, a discount on doughnuts sounded pretty good when she could barely afford instant noodles.

Myra had always hoped that the life of a starving artist would involve more art and less starvation, but with the economy crumbling, she was glad that she’d finally put her painting on hold. Instead, she was two years into a degree in Copyright Law, and while it wasn’t the most exciting of career paths, it would allow her some networking opportunities. And honestly, at twenty-three years old, what she really craved was stability. Dreams of becoming a famous painter were far less important than a full belly and a roof over her head that wasn’t her father’s.

“Hey, Myra!” shouted a nasal voice. “Where’s my drinks for table four?” One of the waitresses, a petite crow-haired hag named Angela, stood by the bar, her hand on her hip. Myra hated that smug bitch. She was pretty sure the snotty server wasn’t paying her out at the end of the night. Honestly, as far as Myra was concerned, Angela could go fuck herself. But unfortunately, she was the owner’s niece, so there wasn’t much the bartender could do but smile politely and nod.

“Coming, Ange!” She sighed as she filled the bar tray with six highball glasses, carefully layering liquor and mixers to create the “Rose of Revere,” one of _The Waterfront Tavern_ ’s signature cocktails. She hated gimmicky drinks. If you wanted to impress someone, it was better to go with quantity, not flash. Only underage drinkers and complete assholes ordered fancy drinks, as far as she was concerned. For the whole table to order the same thing? Myra had a sneaking suspicion that Angela had recommended the drink. Seriously, Angela could go fuck herself twice. With a hot poker.

Myra cursed under her breath as a bottle of blackberry simple syrup slipped from her fingers, exploding across the floor and splattering her nice, neat tights with purple, sticky mess. Damn it, that would have been a bitch to clean up on a slow night. And tonight was anything but.

“Bastards could have just ordered bourbon, but no, they had to order the most complicated thing we sell,” she muttered, gesturing to her barback. “Harry, I’m going to need more blackberry syrup. And a few wet rags.”

“Chef’s gonna be pretty cheesed, Myra,” the young man warned. “That’s the third thing you’ve broken this week. You know that comes out of your cut of the pay, not before you give me my cut, right?”

Myra rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just get me the fucking syrup. I won’t pull a fast one on you.”

“Quite a mouth on you, isn’t there?” an amused voice said from the bar behind her. She turned to see a young man, lean and muscular in his well-pressed uniform. Army. Great. Just what she needed tonight. The man was pale of complexion, though his young-looking face was tanned and weathered by years of battle. His hair, even with its short shave, was a striking ginger. But what really drew Myra’s attention were his eyes. They were intelligent and warm, a surprising steely blue that met her gaze confidently and held it in thrall for a long moment. The soldier flashed her a bemused smile that would have been charming had Myra not found herself covered in syrup and glass.

“Forget her mouth, pal,” leered one of Myra's regulars, a toothless bum named Monty. “I’d like to get some hands on the rest of her.”

Myra glared at the men before continuing to mop up the sticky mess. “I've told you a thousand times, Monty. Any part of you touches me, and I’ll cut it off with a corkscrew,” she hissed. “Understand?”

“Hey, doll, relax,” the old drunkard replied, waddling off with his beer. “I'm just being friendly.”

The soldier grinned at Myra. “When you’ve got the time, I'll take a whiskey. A shot of water on the side.”

Myra nodded, pouring a couple fingers worth of mid-shelf rye into a glass before doling out a quantity of water alongside it. “There you are, soldier,” she said in her practiced customer service voice. “Cheers.”

As the soldier turned his attention to his drink, Myra got back to work cleaning up the syrup. She was almost done by the time Harry returned with the syrup, and she quickly added it to the cocktails. “Harry, you mind running these out to table four for me?” she asked. “Ange is about to kill someone over these, and I’d rather it not be me.”

“Gee, thanks,” the barback groaned, carrying the heavy tray away.

Myra sighed. At least that was dealt with. Now, she could turn her attention back to her customers at the bar. Things had gotten a little backed up, and the impatience around her busy station was palpable. Still, Myra was damn good at her job, and even better at calming irate customers down. In a matter of ten minutes, she was caught up.

The soldier flagged her down, and she poured him another drink. "Any particular reason you're drinking alone tonight, pal?" she asked. It wasn't that she particularly cared. But she'd learned in her years of bar service that people tended to tip more when they felt a personal connection. Myra wasn't the type to flirt her way into a few extra dollars, but she was damn good at acting like she cared. In her experience, everyone who drank alone had a story, and most were willing to share it in the tavern confessional once they were a few drinks deep. And with the emotional catharsis of their worries being mumbled into the aether, most folks were more than willing to part with a few extra bucks.

"Was supposed to meet a buddy of mine here," the soldier said, his steely eyes distant as he sipped on his rye. "I guess he's not going to show. Not that it's that shocking, since he's dead and all, but..." The man sighed heavily. "I guess part of me thought if I could just get here, somehow..." he laughed, downing his glass in a single gulp. "It's stupid."

Myra smiled, offering him another round, which he accepted gladly. "That's not stupid. I know exactly what you mean. My mom died when I was still pretty little. Old enough to miss her, though. I used to go to the library where she worked every day after school, just hoping that I could see her. So I get it."

The soldier nodded. "Sounds like you do."

"Is there anything else I can get you?" Myra asked awkwardly. She hadn't been anticipating sharing her own story with a man she just met, and the fact that one of her greatest hurts fell so easily from her tongue bothered her immensely. There was something about his soulful eyes that just made her want to offer up all her secrets like she was some pathetic worshiper begging for rain. It was unnerving.

  
“I'd take your phone number,” the man replied with a smug grin. "Maybe next time I won't have to drink alone."

Myra snorted. “That’s so not going to happen,” she retorted, moving on down the bar.

"I'll bet you a hundred bucks I can change your mind by the end of your shift," the soldier said, holding up a crisp bill.

The bartender laughed. "Twenty years ago, I might have said yes," she quipped. "Of course, I was three then, so I probably wouldn't be good company. But a hundred dollars won't buy much these days, bud."

"So what do you have to lose?" he replied.

Myra sighed, pulling a matching bill from her apron. "You're on," she mused. "But only because there's no way you're going to win."

The evening continued in much the same way, as the swells and tides of thirsty patrons came and went, leaving dirty glasses and a few crumpled bills in their wake. Still, the soldier remained, drinking his heart out and becoming increasingly rowdy. His brooding had turned to heavy flirting, and that had become playful harassment. By the third time he tried to throw a beer cap down the front of her uniform, Myra had had quite enough of his tipsy antics.

"That's enough!" she said, catching the beer cap in her hand and tossing it into the soldier's drink. "Either you knock it off, or I'm kicking you out."

The ginger grinned at her. "Sure I will, ma'am. Just as soon as you agree to go on a date with me." He leaned back in his bar-stool, popping his boots up on the bar with a contented sigh.

"Hey, asshole!" Myra fumed, her eyes blazing with anger, "Just ‘cause you’ve got a fancy uniform doesn’t mean you own the place. Get your goddamn feet off my bar before I call the cops."

"How about you make me?" he shot back, his eyes clouded with drink. "Better yet, pour me another. This one's got a cap in it."

"I think you've had quite enough," Myra retorted, pulling his empty glass away.

As she turned to put the glass away, she tripped on the bar-mat, her head colliding with one of the tap-handles behind her. Her arms flew out reflexively to save her, and her left arm went straight through a stack of wine glasses, shattering several of them. "Fuck!" she screamed as she struggled to stand, clutching her bleeding forearm.   
  
Harry ran to her side, his eyes wide. "Are you okay, Myra?" he asked as she grabbed a clean bar rag, wrapping it around her wound.

"Does it look like I'm fucking okay, Harry?" she hissed as she bled through the rag in a matter of seconds. "I think I need stitches."  
  
The bar-back nodded. "I'll take you to the hospital. Let me just go tell Chef."

Myra shook her head. "He'll dock your pay, Harry. I'll call my dad."

"I could take you," the soldier replied. During the commotion he'd stood up and was now leaning over the bar, his steely eyes wide with concern.

"You've done enough," Myra muttered. She pulled the wall phone from its hook, carefully dialing.

"Thank you for calling the Nahant Sheriff's office," a chipper voice responded. "This is Maggie. What can we help you with today?"

"Hey, Maggie," Myra said. "It's My. Is the Sheriff still in?"

"He's still here, honey," the older woman said, "but he's in a meeting with the Mayor right now."

"Well, it can't really wait," Myra said impatiently. "I cut myself on some glass and I need a ride to the hospital."

Maggie gasped. "Why didn't you call 911, silly?"

"It's not that bad. I'm just...a little woozy."

Maggie clicked her tongue against the top of her teeth. "Okay. Stay calm. You're at the bar?"

"Ye-yeah."

"I'll have Deputy Andrews come get you right away. Don't worry, My. I'll make sure your daddy knows what happened."

"Thanks, Maggie," Myra slurred as her eyes. "You're a real...phearggh." Her tongue didn't seem like it was capable of making the sounds she wanted it to any more, but Myra found herself not caring too much. The last things she remembered before losing consciousness was Harry calling her name and the face of that troublesome soldier, his damned steely eyes wide with concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for releasing this first part so late! My husband's grandfather died, and I was at the funeral. Also, I apologize if any of this doesn't make sense. I'm super sick, but I didn't want you all to think I was neglecting you!


	2. Fantastic And Half-Dead

**April 19, 2076: Medford, MA**

* * *

 

Nate Larimer stood outside Lawrence Memorial Hospital, clutching a bouquet of hyacinth tightly in his left hand. Now that he was here, he felt incredibly stupid. After all, what had happened to the bartender wasn't his fault, not exactly. It had been an accident. She'd slipped, that was all. Still, he couldn't help but feel responsible for her injuries, especially after the way she'd snapped at him.

He'd tried to accompany her to the hospital the night before, but the Sheriff's Deputy had waved him off with a withering glare. Nate suspected the man's reaction had something to do with how much alcohol the young soldier had consumed, and he supposed that if he'd been in the same position, he would have reacted similarly.

In spite of his actions the night before, Nate wasn't much of a drinker. If it had been up to him, he probably wouldn't have even been in the bar that night. But he'd promised Rick that he'd drink with him when they had leave next, and, well...only one of them had made it home. That was the harsh reality of war, he supposed. All this incredible technology at their disposal, and somehow it still came down to who killed more men and captured more territory. It never changed.

Nate, at least, was single. He wished the same could be said for Rick. But his friend had left behind a wife and two children, a sweet pair of little girls who would never know the man Nate had been honored to call his best friend. And that, he thought, was the real shame of it. It was unfair, that he was still alive when someone so deeply loved was lost. No one really loved Nate that way. Why would they? He was the bonus son of a new money family who had one heir too many, destined for war or the priesthood, whichever suited him best. Nate had never been one for philosophy and theology, so the seminary was out. Now, he wasn't convinced that he was cut out for the battlefield either, not that it mattered. The day he'd left for the academy had been the first time his father had ever told him he was proud of him, and Nate supposed that was good enough for him. So he'd worked his tail off and had made captain a few months earlier than anticipated. With the rate of depreciation in the upper ranks being what it was, he'd probably make Major soon enough, painting a larger target on his back for the Red Chinese bastards to aim at. But at least his family had their patriot to bleed for them. At least his older brother, Cameron, was free to enrich the family name.

The soldier sighed, finally working up the nerve to enter the hospital. He wasn't even sure what he was so afraid of. She was just a girl, after all. But there was something about her that intrigued him, that made him willing to be a little impulsive. He wasn't sure if it was the loneliness of his bachelor lifestyle finally catching up to him or just guilt over her injuries, but he wanted a chance to get to know her before their paths diverged again.

He slid up to the nurse's station with a warm, charismatic smile. "Hello," he said. "I'm here to see Myra Taylor."

The attending nurse was an older woman, sour-faced and weary. She frowned up at him from behind her desk. "Are you a family member?"

Nate kicked himself. Of course, there were rules about these sorts of things. With the surge of paranoia crippling the nation, people were looking for spies and saboteurs everywhere, and he wasn't in uniform today. "Sort of," he replied glibly. "I'm her fiance."

The nurse smiled warmly at him. "Well, congratulations, son!" she exclaimed. "It's a rare thing, seeing love bloom in times like these."

"Well, my Myra's a special girl," he replied. "Could you be a dear and tell me what room she's in?"

"Of course, son!" she replied, holding out a clipboard. "I just need you to sign in here. Just a precaution, you know."

Nate nodded, hastily inscribing his name on the sheet. He briefly considered using a fake name, just in case things went south, but he'd lied enough for today. After he returned the clipboard, the nurse looked it over, nodding with approval.

"She's up in room 205," the woman continued. "Straight up the stairs, then to the left."

Nate grinned. "Got it. Thank you, ma'am!" He headed up the stairs, nerves on edge. He had no idea what to expect when he arrived. He'd stopped by the bar first, and was surprised to hear that the hospital was keeping Myra under observation. From what he could tell, the injuries hadn't been that bad. Maybe she'd hit her head harder than he thought.

He entered the room quietly, checking carefully to make sure that he was alone. From what he could tell, her father was some law enforcement bigwig, and the last thing he needed was a civilian police complaint on his record. Fortunately, the room was empty, save for the young woman lying in the hospital bed. She seemed smaller somehow than she had the night before, as though the bed swallowed some of her spirit. She was quite beautiful, all the same, with long brown hair and freckles to die for. Her emerald eyes met his, bleary from medication but still tinged with a glimmer of amusement. 

"Well, as you can see, I'm still alive. Come to finish the job?" she croaked.

"Not exactly," Nate quipped. "Unless you're allergic to flowers." He held up the bouquet awkwardly.

Myra snorted. "Hyacinth, huh? Didn't take you for a language of the flowers type."

"My mother picked them out, if you really want to know," Nate replied. "I wasn't sure what was appropriate."

"Well, barging into my hospital room definitely wasn't," the bartender admonished. "How did you even get in here? My father ordered the nurses to keep everyone but family out."

Nate blushed slightly. "I may have told the head nurse that we were engaged. Look, I know this seems bad," he continued frantically, "but I wasn't sure what else to do. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Your coworkers said you hadn't been released yet, and I was a little worried about you."

Myra's face lit up. "Well, that's either the creepiest thing anyone's ever done for me or the sweetest. Lucky for you, I've dealt with my share of creeps, and you seem harmless enough. So, when's the wedding?"

"I..." Nate sputtered.

"I'm kidding, geez," Myra said, laughing hoarsely. "There's an extra vase over there if you want to get those bad boys in water. Then, I guess you should at least tell me your name, since you're going to be my husband and all."

"It's Nate," he said, filling a simple glass vase from the bathroom sink. "Nate Larimer."

"I'm Myra Taylor," she replied. "Though I suppose you already know that. I'm going to have to talk to my coworkers about keeping their mouths shut next time I get a concussion."

"Does that happen often?" he asked, placing the bouquet on her bedside table.

"I mean, not more than once every couple years," Myra replied. "I'm not exactly the most graceful person, if you haven't figured that out already."  

"So you decided to work in a bar, where everything is expensive and breakable?"

She grinned. "Well, last night was particularly bad. I usually don't break more than one or two things a year. And even then, I haven't ever lost a bottle off the top shelf, so my boss doesn't have that much to complain about. Besides, he needs the help. With most of the labor force off to war or working in manufacturing, I'm pretty much the best bartender left in Boston."

"Well, you're certainly the prettiest," Nate replied without thinking. 

Myra laughed. "I was wondering when you were gonna start hitting on me."

"I..." Nate's heart raced. Damn it, why was he so bad at these things? "So, anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about you getting hurt. And for drinking too much. I'm usually not that stupid."

She sighed. "Nate, I'll admit, I just met you, but so far, pretty much everything you've done has been stupid, so I'm having a hard time believing that."

He cringed. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to make this better?"

"If you know a way to un-concuss my skull," Myra joked, "then by all means, knock yourself out. But seriously," she added, patting his arm weakly, "it's not really your fault. And I'll be fine. The doctor says I'll be back to slinging drinks in a couple days."

"Well, when that happens," Nate replied, "can I take you out?"

Myra sighed heavily. "Look, Nate, you seem like a sweet guy, if a little bit crazy. But I'm not really into the whole soldier boy thing. I've already got enough to worry about with keeping my dad alive. I spent my entire childhood wondering if today was the day he wasn't gonna come home. The last thing I want is to get mixed up with another guy in a high-risk profession, okay?"

"I'm not saying you actually have to marry me or anything," he hedged. "I just...we could go out on one date, so I can make all this up to you. Anywhere you want, my treat."

"So," she mused, "if I said I wanted lobster at the  _Capital Grille_..."

Nate thought for a moment. He certainly could afford it, if that was what she really wanted to do, but he wasn't exactly keen on letting her know how much he was worth. Money was the only thing his family had ever given him, and he sure as hell didn't want it to be the only thing women wanted him for. It was the main reason he hadn't dated extensively. Once people knew that he was one of  _those_ Larimers, they tended to treat him differently, and he hated it. Was it too much to ask for a chance just to be Nate? 

Still, he had told Myra he'd take her anywhere, and while he had no qualms lying to the nurse, he wasn't keen on lying to her. "I mean, if that's what you want," he said softly.

Myra grinned. "Lucky for you, I hate lobster. Tell you what, I'll let you take me out to the Common for a picnic. But just so we're clear, I have no intention of dating you. I just would hate to turn you down after you went to all this trouble."

Nate chuckled. "Well, I'll do my best to make it worth your while. Heck, maybe you'll change your mind."

"Doubtful," she said, "but hey, I guess it never hurts to hope." She yawned heavily. "Thanks for the flowers and the laughs," Myra continued, "but I'm pretty worn out. Leave me your phone number, and I'll call you when I get released. How's that sound?"

The soldier nodded, writing down his information. "I'm renting this place over in Lynn," he said. "If for some reason I'm not there, just leave a message with my roommate. He'll make sure I get it."

Myra smiled sleepily. "Sounds good. Well, I guess I'll be seeing you."

Nate returned her smile. "Yeah. I guess you will."


	3. Her Clashes of Colors

**April 20, 2076: Nahant, MA**

* * *

 

Myra waited nervously on the front porch of her father's house for her date to pick her up. Her arm had healed reasonably well, though she still wore a large gauze bandage over the gruesome stitches to keep them clean until they dissolved. She'd been tempted to wear long sleeves, but the only outfit she currently owned that was date-worthy had short sleeves. It was a simple cotton dress in muted lilac, her Easter dress from last year, and she supposed it suited her well enough. Hell, she'd even taken the time to do her makeup, so Nate had better not complain about it.

She wasn't sure why she'd agreed to go out with the soldier. He seemed nice enough, if a little pushy, but he wasn't her usual type. She hadn't been lying when she told Nate that she usually avoided getting involved with men in high-risk positions. Being the daughter of a cop, she'd witnessed too many broken families, too many good men who never came home. The last thing Myra wanted to be was a widow, raising five kids alone in the ruins of love. It would even be fair to say that she was terrified of the prospect.

Hell, her mother had been a civilian, a young and spunky local librarian with a big heart and a wonderfully imaginative brain, and that still hadn't saved her from harm. As time had worn on, Myra's memories of her mother had faded somewhat, kept alive by her favorite stories and the spirit of compassion she'd instilled in her daughter. She'd been only seven when the drunk driver had taken her mother from her, old enough to know her but too young to learn many of the lessons a girl needed her mother for. Her father had never remarried, and Myra couldn't blame him. Martin and Harriet had been soulmates in the truest sense of the word. No woman alive could ever replace her.

Without a mother, Myra had been basically raised by the Nahant Sheriff's Department. The female dispatchers and desk clerks were her big sisters, and had taught her about her changing body when puberty reared its ugly head. The deputies were her brothers, and had taught her to shoot and scrap. She missed her mother desperately, but she was grateful for all the love and support her father's coworkers had given her over the years. They were her family, her best friends, and her mentors. And every time one of them was lost in the line of duty, a part of her died as well. She couldn't bear to lose anyone else.

Still, Myra had only promised Nate one date. There was no reason for her to worry about getting invested in the guy. Chances were good that they'd have a mediocre time, would swiftly run out of things to talk about, and then he would take her home and they would never see each other again. That was how most of her dates went. People weren't exactly keen on pursuing a woman like her. She wasn't demure, or well put-together, or even terribly polite when it came to most people. The city was full of clean, quiet, small women, and those were the ones who got married and settled down. Myra was rough, loud, and tall from an early age, and apparently that wasn't becoming. Men didn't seem to like women who were taller than them, and stranger still, the tall men seemed particularly attracted to tiny girls. That left her with a pretty small pool to draw from, which was another reason why she rarely dated.

Myra wanted love, of course. What modern girl didn't? But she wasn't willing to just take what life threw at her, the scraps the other women left behind. She craved a real connection with a reliable man, someone who wasn't just willing to overlook her quirks but reveled in them. She wanted a real partner, someone she could trust. And those didn't just fall out of the sky, or wander into her bar.

"You look nervous," a gruff voice called from behind the screen door. Myra glanced up at her father with a weak smile as he opened the screen, joining her on the porch. Martin Taylor was a formidable man at first glance. He was a few inches over six feet, with broad, rigid shoulders and muscles to match. He shared Myra's piercing green eyes that suffered no fools, framed in a stoic, chiseled face. His thick, black hair was well-maintained, and the gray that tinted his temples only added to his gravitas. But to those who knew him as well as his daughter did, he was anything but intimidating. The sheriff was all marshmallow, and everyone who loved him knew it.

"Thanks," Myra replied as her father sat in the chair next to hers, offering her a glass of lemonade. "I guess I am, a little."

"Mitty, you've got nothing to worry about," he replied. "What do I always tell you?"

"If he's an asshole, he's not worth it anyway," Myra recited with a laugh. "But that's not my concern. What if I actually end up liking him?"

Martin frowned. "Well, that is worrying," he said. "My little girl, falling for someone? Hell, I'd think the world had gone off its hinges more than it has!"

Myra laughed. "I'm not that bad, dad."

"I'm not saying you're bad," the sheriff protested, "but honey, you're my only child. If I'm going to live to see my grandchildren, you're going to have to find a man someday. I won't always be here to look after you. I'm just saying, if you like this guy, maybe that'd be okay. As long as he's not a damn communist like that last one."

"Oh my God, dad, will you let it go?" Myra groaned. "We were in seventh grade, and Kyle wasn't a communist. His parents were journalists."

"Yeah, commie journalists," Martin grumbled. "Look, just...I know I'm not always the best at these things, Mitty. I'm trying to be supportive. All I want is for you to be happy and safe. That's all any father could ever want for his children. You don't have to see this guy again if you don't like him. But if you do, don't run away from that just because it might all fall apart down the line. Give it a chance to grow."

Myra thought for a moment, sipping on her drink. "Daddy?" she asked softly.

"Yeah?"

"Is that how you feel about you and mom?"

Martin's eyes filled with a familiar pain that Myra had often seen over the years, an ache that never subsided or relented, merely lay dormant until it crept out into the open at inconvenient times. "It's now been more years since we lost her than we had together," he murmured. "We were just kids, then, younger than you. If I'd known then that I'd have to live so long without her..." he sighed heavily. "I don't regret it. Not a minute of it. Your mother was worth the pain. You were worth the pain. Someday, Mitty, I think you'll understand what I mean."

"Maybe," she replied softly. "But I'm pretty sure Nate Larimer's not gonna be the one to teach me. You haven't met him yet, dad, but he's --"

"Looks like I'll get to right about now," Martin interrupted as a new-looking black Zip pulled up in front of the house. Nate stepped out of the driver's seat, dressed down in a light blue button-down and tan shorts. He grinned as he caught Myra's eye, pulling a small bouquet of wildflowers from the passenger seat.

Myra rolled her eyes. "More flowers, already? The old ones haven't even died yet."

Martin flashed her a pointed smile. "Play nice, Mitty."

Nate bounded up the porch steps, handing her the bouquet. "Those were hospital flowers. These are first date flowers. Totally different things." He turned to Martin, offering the sheriff a firm handshake. "You must be Sheriff Taylor. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Nate Larimer."

Martin stood, shaking Nate's hand. "Call me Martin," he replied, giving the young man a once-over. "Well, you're a tall fellow, aren't you?"

Nate grinned, his steely eyes alight. "As are you, sir. Guess that's where Miss Myra gets it from."

"You'll have her home by 9, of course," the sheriff continued, "unless you want the whole department out looking for you."

"I wouldn't dream of worrying you, sir," Nate replied smoothly.

Martin chuckled. "Well, that makes one of you. Good luck, soldier," he added before heading back inside. "You'll need it."

Myra sighed. "Looks like you've won my dad over. Not that it's hard."

Nate beamed at her, offering her his arm. "I have a way with parents. Sadly, he's not the Taylor I want to impress. There's still the matter of winning you over."

Myra laughed, walking past him towards his car. "How fast does this thing go, anyway?" she asked.

"Why, thinking of trying to outrun the cops?" Nate quipped.

"You joke, but it wouldn't be the first time my dad sent someone to spy on my dates," Myra muttered. "Guess you're getting a pass because you're Army. Dad's always been a sucker for soldiers."

"Sadly, not a trait you seem to have inherited from him," Nate replied. "Guess I'll have to show you what else I can do."

Myra chuckled. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

Nate opened the passenger door for her. "Well, for starters, I'm a heck of a driver," he said. "And I'm very, very good at picking out snacks."

"Two admirable traits," Myra mused with a grin as she climbed into the sporty little car. "I look forward to seeing both in action."

Nate closed her door, making his way back to the driver's side. Within moments, they were off, heading towards Downtown Boston.

* * *

 

Myra sighed in contentment as she polished off one last bite of aged asiago. Nate hadn't lied about his snack choices. As he'd laid out their feast on a soft checkered blanket under an old oak tree, Myra could scarcely believe her eyes. There was fresh, soft Italian bread, large green olives in seasoned oil, three different cheeses, cured salami, sweet and juicy smoked turkey, almonds... the spread was unbelievable. "That...was incredible," she said. "Where did you get all this stuff?"

Nate smiled warmly at her. "My brother's wife's family owns a small import business," he said. "I'll take you to their storefront sometime, if you'd like."

"If it means I get to eat more delicious cheese," Myra mused, "I might take you up on that."

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," Nate replied. "It's definitely better than the garbage they feed us at mess. It was great to get to eat real food again before I have to go back."

Myra frowned. "You much leave do you have left, anyway?"

"I'm going to be in town for another couple of days," he replied. "Came home for a funeral. I was just coming home from the funeral Mass the night we met, actually, which was why I was still in uniform."

"So you're not the kind of guy who just wears it around to impress girls," Myra said with a slight smile.

"Are you kidding?" Nate asked. "I hate those guys. Frankly, it's a disgrace to the uniform."

Myra thought for a moment. "I hate to ask, and don't answer me if it's painful, but who died?"

Nate sighed. "One of my buddies from the academy. Rick was a pretty great guy. Heck, he was my best friend, in a lot of ways. He never was great at dodging lasers, though."

Myra touched his arm gently. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know what it's like to lose someone close to you like that."

He shrugged. "Well, that's war, I guess. Heck, maybe that's life. We meet people, we form bonds, we lose them, all the way until we die ourselves. Can't do a thing to change it."

"Yeah..." Myra murmured. Her thoughts drifted to all the people she'd lost, all the lives cut short by the actions of others. If that was life, then life was a cruel bitch.

Nate touched her lightly on the shoulder, drawing her gaze back to him. "Well, that's darker than I expected today to go. What do you say we talk about something happier, huh?"

Myra smiled. "That's fair." She glanced over at the bandstand down by the pond, where a small ensemble had begun to play. She smiled as she recognized the song, an instrumental cover of " _Let Me Call You Sweetheart"_. She'd know the song anywhere. Her mother used to hum it all the time under her breath as she did the housework. In an instant, Myra's mind conjured the happy days of her childhood, helping her mother prepare dinner and run out the laundry. Strange how just a simple melody could take her back to those moments, so precious in their brevity.

Nate offered her a hand. "Care for a dance? That's another thing I'm pretty good at."

Myra shook her head. "I'm all left feet," she replied, blushing slightly.

"Even the clumsiest person can dance," Nate replied, pulling her to her feet. "You just need the right partner."

Myra sighed. "Fine. One dance. I can't help it that I love this song."

Nate led her over to the pavement beside the bandstand, where other couples had already begun to sway. He held her close, but not too close, carefully guiding her with his hands. "Just follow my lead, and relax if you can," he teased. "I promise, I won't make you look bad if I can help it." Myra tripped slightly, gasping in alarm as he caught her, steadying her. "Easy. You're thinking too much. Don't think, just feel the rhythm, the ground, and me. I'll take care of the rest."

Myra nodded nervously, doing her best to clear her mind, to just let the music wash over her. In an instant, they were gliding gently across the ground, Nate smiling down at her with soft tenderness in his steel blue eyes. She locked on to his gaze, her eyes never faltering as she let him lead her through the dance. Unlike her normal experiences with dancing, it wasn't an awkward affair at all. It felt like breathing, like swimming through the cool spring air, like she'd spent her entire life here in Nate's arms. There was a thrilling in her stomach as he looked at her, a gentle heat where his hands connected with her body. She'd been on dates before, had danced with a man before. But it had never, ever felt like this.

Nate's eyes widened, and he pulled her aside, concern evident on his face. "What's the matter?" he asked, offering her a fresh handkerchief from his pocket. Myra stared at him in confusion before realizing that she was crying. She blushed, snatching the cloth from him and dabbing at her eyes.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I don't usually...what the hell?"

Nate grinned at her. "Well, I've had a lot of different reactions from women over the years, but I have to say, that's a new one."

Myra groaned. "Oh, hell. Look, I'm not sure why I just started crying, okay? Can we pretend this didn't happen?"

"No way!" he retorted, laughing. "I'm gonna make sure I tell everyone that I made you cry on our first date. That's way too good of a story to pass up."

"Well, good thing you won't be getting a second one," Myra replied, smiling through her tears. "I don't think I need that kind of reputation."

"Ouch," he said, gripping his chest playfully. "I thought things were going well. I mean, until you started bawling."

"It wasn't the worst date I've ever been on," Myra replied. "But I meant what I said. I have no interest in getting involved with a soldier."

"Your dad's going to be pretty disappointed," Nate teased. "He seems to like me."

"Well, then the two of you can go out next time," she snickered. "My dad's a catch. You should be so lucky."

"Maybe I'll ask him," he said. "Well, I'm not usually a kiss on the first date kind of guy, but hey, if I'm not going to get another chance...can I kiss you?"

Myra laughed. "Does that line ever work for you?"

"I don't know. I've never used it before," Nate replied, leaning down towards her slowly.

Myra brought her head up to meet his, pressing her lips softly against his. Nate's kiss was gentle, respectful in its urgency as he tested her boundaries, his lips warm and supple as they met hers. In spite of herself, Myra found her arms around his neck as she leaned into him, her mind exploding with too many thoughts at once. Was this really happening? Was she really okay with this? Was it weird that she was okay with this?

Too soon, Nate pulled back from her, his eyes searching hers. "Well, I guess that was a hell of a sendoff," he murmured.

"Wow," Myra replied. It was the only word she was able to find for longer than she cared to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: "Mitty" is Myra's childhood nickname, and is a corruption of her initials (Myra Isolde Taylor, or MIT). I donno. I thought it was kinda cute.


	4. Posters of a Tragic Love Story

**April 22, 2076: Nahant, MA**

* * *

 

The cold breeze off the bay sent shivers down Nate's spine as he walked along the beach near Myra's house. Night had fallen like a shroud on the small island community, inky darkness only interrupted by the haze of streetlights along the road. Out here, on the cool sands, there was only the night herself, and Nate for one couldn't be happier. He loved the quiet when everyone around him had gone to bed. It was the only time when he felt like he could genuinely be himself, free from the weight of his family name.

At least, it had been the only time he felt free to just be himself. Lately, that had changed, and the young bartender slumbering in her house nearby was the cause. With Myra, Nate didn't feel relegated to second place, all-but-obscured by his brother. He felt seen. He felt respected. And for the first time he could ever really remember, he felt at peace. It had only been a few days since he'd met Myra, but those had been the best days of his life. He would do anything to stay with her, to find out more about where their path could lead.

But reality was a cruel mistress, and by tomorrow morning all the gossamer dreams of a life together would evaporate in the spring sun like dew. Nate's time in Boston was up, and soon he'd be rejoining his unit, patrolling the remains of what had been Canada once more. His mind flooded with images of the bloody campaign to annex the Great White North, protesters and rioters mowed down with extreme prejudice after orders from the top. Things were quieter there now, with few remaining or brave enough to object to American occupation, but the ghosts remained in the eyes of every civilian who cowered before the might of the military, of every soldier like him who bore the weight of what was done there. He still believed in their cause. Taking Canada and her resources had been the only way to slow the Chinese, keeping them locked in Anchorage. If not for military intervention, the entire northern border of the United States would have become a massive breach in the nation's defenses. But all the same, he wished that there had been another way. He hadn't joined the Army to fight civilians.

Nate pulled his open flannel tighter around himself as the ocean breeze picked up, sending sand dancing across the beach all around him. He sighed heavily, staring out into the darkened sea, the smell of brine and decaying seaweed permeating the crisp night air. It did him little good to question the past, or to dwell on orders he had no choice but to follow. What had been done was done. Now, he needed to determine what the future would hold.

He ached when he thought of leaving Myra, of their growing affection for each other becoming another stillborn dream. She wasn't at all the woman he'd imagined himself spending his life with. She was brash, uncouth, and wild, exactly the opposite of who his family would have chosen for him. But in a sense, she was perfect for him. He needed a destabilizing influence in his life, something free and unpredictable. In the heady days they'd spent together, Myra had proven to be just that. There was no denying it. He was completely taken with her.

So where did that leave him? In the morning, they would be parted, perhaps forever if the worst should happen. Nate shuddered at the thought. How terrible it would be to finally have found peace, only to lose it forever just days later? No. Something had to be done, as rash as it was.

Nate hiked briskly back towards town, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this. It was impulsive, foolish, even, and Nate had always had a good head on his shoulders. But what did that matter if he missed out on what might be the greatest thing in his life thus far?

He knocked gently on the front door of Myra's house, trembling with restless energy as barking resounded through the old wooden cottage. He heard low grumbling as the Sheriff plodded to the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Oh," mumbled Martin. "It's you. Don't you know what time it is, kid?"

Nate nodded. "I'm terribly sorry to wake you up, sir. I just...I wanted to see Myra."

The sheriff frowned. "You just got back from the movies what, three hours ago? Have some dignity."

"I know it's unusual, sir, but I'm rejoining my unit tomorrow. I just want a chance to say goodbye."

Martin sighed. "I suppose that's all right, then. Fine. I'll go get her. But you'll have to wait on the porch."

"Thank you, sir!" Nate exclaimed with a nervous grin.

"Can't promise she'll be thrilled to have her sleep interrupted," the sheriff grumbled as he stepped deeper into the house once more. "Girl sleeps like the dead. Always has."

Nate wasn't sure how long he waited for Myra to come outside. It felt like hours as he sat on a hard metal patio chair, his mind racing as he tried to decide what he was going to do. This was a terrible idea. Hell, their entire sort-of-relationship to this point was a testament to terrible ideas. If someone had told him an month ago that he'd break into a woman's hospital room by posing as her fiance, or gone on a swan boat ride even though he couldn't swim and was terrified of boats, he would have laughed in their faces. But something about Myra made him want to act a little crazy. Was it the mischief in her stunning green eyes, or that crooked grin of hers she made when she was surprised? Or was it just the thrill of being near her that made him somehow fearless? He couldn't be certain. All he knew was that being by her side was like a drug, and God, he was addicted.

He fumbled in his pocket, extracting the holy card he always carried with him.  _Our Lady of Victory_. The card had been a gift from his godmother before his first deployment, along with a single-decade rosary he kept in his kit. It always gave him comfort, this simple treasure, a reminder that there were larger forces at play in the world than even governments and nations. It was a promise of lasting peace, of an end to suffering someday, and that was something worth fighting for. He didn't need to turn the card over to recite the prayer on the back under his breath. He'd memorized it by his second month in the wilderness.

" _Memorare, o piissima Virgo Maria_ ," he said softly, worrying the card in his hands, " _non esse auditum a saeculo, quemquam ad tua currentem praesidia, tua implorantem auxilia, tua petentem suffragia, esse derelictum. Ego tali animatus confidentia, ad te, Virgo Virginum, Mater, curro, ad te venio, coram te gemens peccator assisto. Noli, Mater Verbi, verba mea despicere; sed audi propitia et exaudi. Amen._ " He bowed his head, offering all his fears and doubts over to God. He had to believe that he was doing the right thing. Nothing else made any sense to him any more.

"That bad, huh?" Myra's voice teased. He looked up with a start to see her standing just outside the front door, smiling gently at him. "You must really be worried if you're praying the Memorare. What, coming to break my heart?"

Nate blushed. "I...well, I hope not," he replied awkwardly. "I mean..."

Myra laughed, a warm and comforting sound. God, he was going to miss that laugh. "Well, let's get this over with. It's late as hell, and I'm already not a morning person."

He stood abruptly, the metal chair scraping roughly against the wooden deck. "I know it's weird," he said, "but will you go for a drive with me? I want to share something with you."

"You know, Nate, you keep throwing up red flags like this and eventually a girl's going to start arming herself," Myra joked. "Way to check off every box on the creepy guy list."

He sighed. "I know how it sounds, okay? But I promise, I'm not going to murder you. I just...there's some things I'd like to say to you, and I'd rather say them someplace that matters to me, okay? There's a park near my parents' house that's absolutely beautiful at night. I used to sneak out there to be alone when I was trying to avoid my father. So will you come with me?"

Myra nodded. "Let's go, before my dad starts interrogating us."

 

* * *

 

 

The park itself was smaller than Nate remembered. He supposed this was the way of things you knew as a child. The world had seemed so huge to him when he was young. Now, at the edge of thirty, it suddenly seemed quite small indeed. The space was surrounded by a wrought iron fence, rows of tall, ancient oaks shading a few benches. During the day, this park was full of noise and life, from neighborhood kids to old women walking their dogs, vendors selling overpriced treats to old men bickering over a game of chess. But at night, all noise seemed to cease, save the chirping of early spring crickets and the soft melody of wind playing through the leaves above. There was something sacred about the hush of it all, a sanctuary of nature in the bustle of the city. Nate had always loved this place.

"Wow," said Myra softly as they snuck over the fence. "I never took you for the trespassing type."

"It's not really trespassing," Nate replied. "It's a public park."

"Yeah, but if the gate's locked..."

He cleared his throat, leading her to a secluded bench. "That's not important. Look, I've got something to say. And if I don't say it now, I think I'm going to lose my nerve. So are you ready?"

Myra stared at him quizzically as she sat down. "Um, I guess? What is it?"

Nate sat down beside her, trying to ease the anxiety building up inside him. "Myra, I know we just met a few days ago. And I'm not usually the kind of guy who rushes in to things like this. If things were different...but they're not. I leave tomorrow morning, and I don't know when or if I'll be coming back. So I guess I only have this one chance to tell you. I...I really think you're something special. The kind of special a guy could dedicate his life to." He sighed. Everything was coming out all wrong. "I know it's sudden, and I really didn't expect this, but I think I might love you. And I guess I wanted to know, before all this goes away, if you think you could love me too."

Myra's eyes widened at his words, and she bit her lower lip. "I...I don't know," she said after a while. "I mean, I really have enjoyed our time together, way more than I ever thought I would. But Nate, I...how can I let myself love someone that I might lose tomorrow? I'm not the waiting on the widow's walk kind of girl." She teared up, taking his hand gently in hers. "What if something happens to you? I...I've lost so many people already. I can't bear the thought of losing a lover too. It's easier if we just walk away now, before anyone gets hurt."

Nate shook his head. "You don't mean that. I can see it in your eyes that it's not what you really want. There's something special between us. We can both feel it, I know that. Myra, I know it's scary. Trust me, I'm terrified that I feel this way. But don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what I'm feeling, because in less than twelve hours you'll be gone. There's nothing we can do to change it. So it doesn't matter that I think I might love you too, or that I want to beg you to stay. I can't ask you to turn your back on your duty. I might as well ask the sun to never rise."

Nate squeezed her hand tighter. "Myra, it does matter, darn it!" he whispered intensely. "It matters because no matter what, that's something no one can take away from us, no matter what happens. If you really...if you feel for me even half of what I feel for you, then that's enough. I can leave feeling like I've got something worth fighting for."

Myra nodded. "I...I really do think I love you," she whispered almost reverently as she leaned in towards him, her lovely eyes fluttering shut.

He met her lips with his, capturing them in a warm, urgent kiss. Myra gasped against him, her arms snaking around the back of his head and drawing them deeper into each other. Nate's heart raced as he felt her play through his hair, his tongue sliding gently but insistently past her softly parting lips. Without thinking, his hands found their way to the small of her back, pulling her towards him as she ran her nails softly down the back of his neck. Her fingers crept under his flannel overshirt, pulling the warm green fabric away from his shoulders and down his arms. Myra cried out softly as Nate's lips left hers, his teeth nipping gently at the side of her neck as his hands explored her sides. It was as though his brain was short-circuiting, every worry and care falling by the wayside. All was lost to him save the sensation of her skin against his, the heat and passion of the fire that blossomed between them. He had never experienced anything as intense, as pure as the connection between them in that moment. Even if he had wanted to stop, to hold back, he would not have been able to.

Myra pulled back from him, her eyes drunk with passion as they met his. Without speaking, she stood, pulling him along with her as she led them away from the streetlight, into the secluded darkness of the trees beyond. Nate followed her eagerly, holding her tightly in his arms as they eased to the ground, all sense of their surroundings and circumstances melting away. If all they had was this one set of stolen moments, they were going to make the most of them.  
  


* * *

 

The drive back to Nahant was a quiet one. Myra sat curled up in the passenger seat of Nate's car, his green plaid flannel wrapped around her like a blanket as she stared out the window, a vacant look on her face. Nate wanted to ask her what was wrong, if she regretted it, but he couldn't bring himself to know the answer. As it was, his own conscience was giving him hell. The last thing he needed was more cause to feel guilty.

What they had done was, oh, it was wrong. There was no way he could deny that. Nate was a good Catholic boy. He was raised better than that. But somehow, even as his guilt ate at him, he couldn't bring himself to regret what had happened between them. It had felt honest, powerful, pure, almost like a prayer in and of itself. He wondered if it always felt like that. Something told him it didn't. What he and Myra had was special, and while they'd gone about things in the wrong order, he knew being with her was the only thing he wanted...now more than ever.

He wondered if they looked different, somehow, if anyone would be able to tell. A glance over at Myra did little to assuage his fears. Her hair was a mess, even after they'd brushed the grass and leaves from it. Some of it, they could blame on the wind, but there was little that could be done about the grass stains on her top, much less the strange look in her eyes.

Finally, Nate couldn't take it any more. "Myra," he said as he pulled into her driveway, "are you all right? I didn't hurt you anywhere, did I?"

She turned to look at him, her green eyes flooded with a mixture of emotions he didn't understand. "Not at all. I...I really wish you didn't have to go."

"Me too," he replied. He parked the car before leaning over, kissing her on top of her head. "But I promise, I'll do everything I can to come back to you. There's nothing in the world that can stand in my way. And when I do, I swear, I'll make this right."

Myra frowned. "What are you saying?"

Nate fumbled nervously for the right words. "I...I know it's all wrong. I don't even have anything to give you. But Myra Taylor, when I come back for you, will you marry me?"

She nodded, smiling gently up at him. "I will. Hell yeah, I will. So you have to promise me that you'll come home."

He grinned, kissing her passionately. "I swear it. No matter what, I'm going to be with you forever."  
  
"Well, good," she replied. "In the meantime, I'll keep this shirt of yours. You know, as collateral."

Nate chuckled. "Not a trophy?"

"Yeah, that too," she joked. "But until you actually go out and get me some overpriced jewelry and talk to my dad, I guess green flannel will have to do. Good thing I look cute in green, right?"

"You do," Nate agreed, his face burning. "But you look even better in nothing at all. Someday, I'm looking forward to getting a better view."

Myra blushed deeply, giggling. "I...oh geez. Get out of here. You've got a busy morning ahead of you, and I'm going to have to field a zillion questions before my dad'll let me get back to bed."

Nate kissed her once more, all his longing and sadness at parting boiling over. "I love you, Myra," he said softly as she pulled open her car door.

"I love you too, Nate," she replied, slipping out into the night. "This isn't goodbye."


	5. He's Shooting at Shadows

**August 8, 2076: Nahant, MA**

* * *

Myra awoke with a start as the phone in her father's kitchen rang, piercing the night with its shrill voice. She could already hear her father moving downstairs, grumbling to himself as he made his way to the kitchen. The young woman clung to the green flannel shirt she slept with, worrying the soft fabric of a sleeve between her fingers. There were two things that could lead to a call this late at night. One was that her father was being brought in on a case again. The other...the other was a possibility she didn't want to think about.

She pulled a letter from her nightstand, caressing the rough paper as she unfolded the missive. By flashlight, she reread Nate's latest message to her, received over a month prior. She'd already memorized the words, but she needed to see his neat scrawl, to feel his intention behind every word.

_Mitty,_

_I hope things on the home front are going well. How is tourist season this year? I imagine that the college kids and the normal drunks are keeping you busy. I was glad to hear that you got the classes you wanted for this semester. I'm so proud of you. You're going to be a fantastic copyright lawyer._

_Thank you for the postcards you included in your last letter. Having pictures of home has done wonders to raise morale. I can't wait to play tourist with you when I get home, to go on all those stupid popular dates we haven't gotten the chance to have. Do you think you'll be able to suffer through that for me? I think it'd be fun._

_My unit is moving soon. I can't tell you exactly where, but if I see any polar bears, I'll try to take a picture for you. It might be a while before I can write you again, but know that I am always thinking of you. I can't wait to have you back in my arms, to make up for all this time we've missed. I promise, as I always have, that I will do everything I can to return to your side._

_Pray for me, and for my men. We could use it._

_Yours Forever,_

_Nate_

She gently kissed the paper as she refolded it, placing it back in its envelope. Myra felt calmer after reading it, though not by much. There was still the matter of the phone call. From what she could hear, her father was still talking to someone. In a matter of minutes, she'd know the origin of the call. If it was the Sheriff's Department, her father would leave the house. If not, he would most likely be coming up the stairs to talk to her.

Myra dreaded the anticipation. Every time someone called the house or knocked on the door, she was afraid that it was bad news about Nate. This was exactly what she'd hoped to avoid by not getting invested in him. But in spite of herself, she'd fallen fast and hard. Now, she couldn't bear the thought of never seeing his smiling face, of never running her hands through his ginger waves or kissing his firm lips again. She loved him, but more than that, she needed him. The small life growing inside her needed him.

She stroked her belly softly, feeling the slight bulge there. It was small enough yet that she could still keep the news to herself. She'd been wearing baggy clothing to work, had been eating less to keep her weight gain down, anything to hold off the scandal that was sure to follow when it became clear that she was with child. Myra wasn't sure how long she could keep her father in the dark. As months passed, it would get harder and harder to hide her growing belly, to pretend that nothing had changed that night Nate left. But everything had.

Myra didn't regret what they'd done. How could she regret being with someone who brought so much joy into her life, a good man who'd promised to marry her, to give her the life she'd always wanted? But fear was her constant bedtime companion, poisoning the happiness she should have felt at the news that she was going to be a mother. What if she had to drop out of law school? What if Nate never came back? How was she going to make her way in the world, to provide for her child? Would her father kick her out once he knew?

Part of her felt awful for not telling Nate about the pregnancy yet. She was afraid to, if she was being honest. Not for how he'd react, but for the extra pressure it would put on him. She wanted him to worry about staying safe and making it home, not about how he was going to handle fatherhood. God willing, they'd have plenty of time to figure that out. For now, the best thing she could do for him was to bear this burden alone.

"We're going to be okay," she whispered, trying to believe it herself. "no matter what happens, I'm going to look after you. I promise."

"Myra!" called her father from the foot of the stairs. "Can I come up?"

She pulled her covers tighter around her like a shield, her heart racing. "Yes, dad," she replied, her voice cracking slightly. Heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs, drawing ever closer to her room. So it wasn't work. That meant that something had happened to Nate. Something had happened, and she was going to be alone in the world, an object lesson for mothers to teach their daughters how not to live.

The door to her room swung open, and her father flipped on the light. Myra hissed as her eyes struggled to adjust. "Mitty," her father said softly, "the phone..."

She stared up at him, her heart pounding erratically. "How bad is it?" she asked softly.

"Nate's been wounded," he said in that awful tone of voice she'd only heard him use to confront the family of murder victims. Myra had only been on the reviving end of it once before, and it wasn't any easier the second time. "They wouldn't give me any details, but apparently it's bad enough that he's being sent home as soon as they're certain he can handle the flight back to Boston. I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Myra sobbed, pulling her knees to her chest. Her father watched her awkwardly, his eyes full of concern. "I...is he going to be okay?" she asked. "I mean, if he's coming home, it's not...right?"

Martin nodded. "I certainly hope so, Mitty. I promise, as soon as we know where he's being taken, we'll go visit him in the hospital. I'll ask Groves to cover for me, so we'll have the whole day. Does that sound okay?"

"Y-yeah," Myra managed. "I want to see him."

"Well, I'll do what I can to find out more," the sheriff replied. "I know it's tough, honey, but can you try to sleep some more? There's sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet if you need me to bring you some."

Myra shook her head. "I can't...I mean, I'll be okay," she whimpered. "I just...I need to be alone for a while."

"I understand," her father replied. "I'll be downstairs if you need me." With that, he turned the light back off and retreated from the room with a heavy sigh.

She sank down on the bed, pulling herself into a tight ball. Wounded wasn't dead, no. But wounded could mean anything. Was he crippled? Hand he lost any brain functions? There were so many possibilities, and none of them were great. Only time would tell how dramatically their lives would be changed.

* * *

 

**August 17, 2076: Kendall Hospital, Cambridge MA**

* * *

 

Myra did her best not to gasp as she entered Nate's hospital room, but it was difficult not to cry out in shock at the sight of him. The tall young man lay awkwardly on a hospital bed that was slightly too short for him, his right eye obscured by bandages. His left leg rested outside the blankets, pierced through with metal bars that kept his shattered ankle in place. The areas where the metal brace was screwed directly into his leg wept with lymph, staining the bandages that concealed the worst of the injury. Nate struggled to sit up as best as he could as she entered, his cheeky grin stifled somewhat by pain.

"Relax," Myra said softly. "It's just your fiancee."

Nate laughed hoarsely. "And that's actually true this time," he replied. "Who would have thought? Though I wouldn't blame you if you changed your mind. They say I'll probably be able to walk again, but I wasn't thrilled with how they put it. And I'm afraid I'm not as handsome as I was a few months ago."

Myra smiled sadly. "Oh, you're giving yourself too much credit. You weren't ever that handsome."

He chuckled. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," she said, easing into a chair next to his bed. "I'm glad you're back. I mean, I wish there'd been other circumstances, but still."

He nodded, wincing with effort. "It's my own fault. I should have watched where I was going. Thank God for combat armor, or there would have been a lot less of me to put back together."

Myra reached for his hand, holding it gently. There wasn't much else she could do to comfort him. "Is there anything I can get for you?" she asked. "My dad's here, and he said he'd be willing to bring you just about anything as long as it's not illegal."

"A new eye would be great," Nate joked bitterly. "One that works, not that stupid glass one they're fitting for me."

She stroked his hand softly with her thumb. "Afraid the gift shop's fresh out of those," she said. "But they've got ice cream."

"Ice cream will do," he replied. "But what I really want is to spend time with you."

"Well, then," Myra replied with a grin, "I'm all yours."

"Let me get a look at you," Nate said softly, turning his head to see her better. "You're looking healthy. Good. I was worried when your father said you hadn't been eating."

"When did you talk to my dad?" Myra asked, astonished.

"You think you're the only one who wrote to me?" he teased. "Heck, I got almost more letters from your dad than from you. The guys used to tease me that I was marrying the wrong Taylor."

"You two would make a very handsome couple, it's true," Myra said with a chuckle. "I can't believe him. Why didn't he tell me that?"

"He probably didn't want you to worry," Nate replied. "He's afraid that you push yourself too hard, you know. He kept telling me that I had to make it home so you'd start relaxing again."

"He's such a damn softie," Myra growled. "I can take care of myself."

"We both know you can, Mitty," Nate soothed. "But can you blame us for wanting to make sure that you don't have to?"

"I guess not," she replied. "Besides, I think the pressure's going to be off me soon enough anyway. I can't think my dad'll have time to worry about me when he's got someone else to fawn over."

"I guess a new son-in-law can have that effect," Nate replied, confused, "but I wouldn't bank on it."

Myra chuckled nervously. "Well, true, but I wasn't talking about you."

"Huh?" Nate replied, his good eye staring at her. "Then who were you talking about?"

Myra could feel her heart pumping in her ears as she tried to stay brave. What if Nate wasn't ready for a child? What if he changed his mind about being together? She shook her head. No. She had to tell him, no matter what. Nate deserved to know. "I mean I'm pregnant," she said softly.

"What?" he cried, his eye wide in shock. "How? I mean, we only...it was one time!"

Myra nodded. "I guess it only took the one," she said sheepishly. "Sorry for not telling you earlier, but I didn't want you to worry." Nate stared at her, unmoving, for what felt like hours. Myra's panic increased with every second. Was he angry? Did he doubt her fidelity? Myra knew how it might look. She'd heard of women trying to pull scams like that before. Finally, she couldn't take it any more. "Are you okay?" she asked awkwardly.

He nodded slowly. "I...holy crap. I'm a dad."

Myra grinned, relief flooding through her as she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah you are."

"I'm a dad!" Nate yelled, laughing like a madman. "We're going to have a kid! That's crazy! Your dad's going to kill me! Hell, my parents are probably going to disown me! But what the hell? It doesn't matter!"

A nurse ran in, her deep brown eyes wide in concern. "Is everything all right?" she asked. "I heard screaming."

Nate nodded. "We're having a baby!" he exclaimed.

The nurse smiled warmly. "That's fantastic news, sir. Congratulations."

Nate turned back to Myra, his grin fading slightly. "Mitty? Are you...you're okay with this, right?"

She nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. "Yeah," she said softly. "I...I was just so scared that you were going to be upset."

"Why would I be upset?" Nate asked. "I mean, yeah, it isn't the way I wanted to do things, but it's what we both want, right? You, me, a bunch of kids running around, it'll be great. And now, you don't even have to worry about me getting deployed again. We can just enjoy this time together."

Myra sobbed, clinging to his hand like it was the only thing keeping her from drifting away. "I...I..."

"Hey, calm down," he soothed. "You keep bawling like that and I'll think you really don't wanna be with me any more."

She chuckled through her tears. "I promise it's...it's not that. I'm just...I'm so relieved."

"Aw, sweetheart," he said softly, stroking her chestnut hair out of her face with one finger, "hey, everything's going to be okay. This is the start of an amazing new life together. You'll see. We'll get a house, a dog, the whole nine yards. Anything you want, I'll make it happen."

"How are we going to afford that?" she asked. "Kids are expensive, and with college and you having to find work..."

Nate laughed. "I still haven't told you, have I?"

Myra looked up at him, puzzled. "Haven't told me what?"

"As long as my parents don't actually disown me, we're totally set for life. Hell, even if they do cut me off, with all the pay I've been saving..." Nate sighed. "Look, my family's insanely rich. I don't like talking about it, because it makes people act strangely around me, but it's the truth."

"Are you serious?" Myra asked. "I thought you were broke as hell!"

Nate grinned. "Nope, just frugal. I've never wanted the big house and the fancy stuff. I just want to be comfortable and happy with someone I love."

Myra frowned. "Well, you know they're probably going to hate me, right? I mean, I'm not exactly high society material. And with the baby, they might think I 'trapped' you or something."

"Like I care what they think," Nate replied. "Like I said, even without them, we'll be okay. I've put most of my pay away since I left the academy, and I'm sure someone will be willing to hire a lame, one-eyed veteran. All that matters now is making sure that your dad doesn't shoot me before I have the chance to make you my wife."

"I'd prefer it if we could avoid you getting shot at from now on," Myra agreed. "By my father or anyone else for that matter."

Nate laughed. "I promise, no more bullet holes if I can help it."

"Well, good," Myra replied, kissing him on the forehead. "Now get some rest. I need you to get better so you can help me plan this wedding."

He grinned at her. "I can hardly wait."

Myra walked out of the hospital room, her heart lighter than it had been in months. Things weren't ideal, it was true. Nate had a long road ahead of him, and nothing was entirely certain. But knowing that he was alive, that he was willing to stay by her side and face the challenges of life together...that made everything infinitely more bearable. At the end of it all, it wouldn't matter that their child had been conceived out of wedlock, or that they'd gotten married so soon after meeting. What mattered was that they were together, that they were a family, and that no matter what, they'd do everything they could to endure what fate had in store for them. They would be loved. Their child would be loved. Everything else suddenly just seemed so much less important.

She met her father by the elevator. He was reading the newspaper, his brow knitted as he perused the latest headlines. Martin glanced up as she eased into the chair next to him, flashing his only child a bright smile. "How's Nate holding up?"

"He's got a lot of challenges in front of him," Myra said with a sigh. "But I think he's going to be okay."

Martin nodded. "Of course he is. He's got you watching his back. Nobody could ask for a better partner."

Myra chuckled nervously. "Thanks, dad."

He patted her hand affectionately. "So, did you tell him that you're pregnant yet?"

Myra gasped. "What?"

The sheriff laughed. "Mitty, you know your old man better than all that. You might be able to fool most people, but not me."

"How long have you known?" she asked awkwardly, blushing.

"A couple weeks," he replied. "I figured you'd tell me when you were ready." Martin sighed. "Of all the things...who knew you'd inherit that from your mother too? Heh. Well, you get the bad impulse control from both sides, to be fair. At least you're doing the right thing and marrying the guy."

Myra frowned. "How'd you...I never told you that, either."

Martin sighed heavily. "You didn't have to. Nate asked me in a letter a couple months back. Smart kid, asking when he was too far away from me to threaten him." Martin grinned. "I wish I'd been as smart. I ever tell you how your mom's dad almost broke my jaw when he found out about you?"

Myra chuckled. "Yeah, you love that story."

"Almost as much as I love you," he said, pulling her into a side hug. "I could be furious. Honestly, for a few days there, I was. But in the end, I just want you to be happy and to have everything in this world that you want. If this is what you really want, then I'll do whatever it takes to help you. You're not alone, either of you."

"I know," Myra said with a sigh, resting her head on her dad's shoulder. "Thanks, daddy."

Martin nodded. "Just promise me you'll do the same for your kid. Give him or her the best chance in life you can. And no matter what, treasure them. Because before you know it, they'll be leaving you and finding a new life of their own."

Myra laughed. "Geez, dad. It's not like this is goodbye. I'm still your daughter."

"Yeah. But it's different now. Someday, you'll understand."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just realized how completely I screwed up the continuity with my dates. In the main story, I explicitly stated that Myra and Nate got married six months after they met, but I also said that they got married in May of 2076. The easiest way to fix this was to change their wedding day in the main story, so that's what I've done. I usually try to be better about these things. Sorry!
> 
> REMINDER that I'm gone Tuesday, so the main story will update either Wednesday or Thursday this week, with regular updates resuming next Tuesday. Thanks for your patience!


	6. Mirage The Blushing Bride He Weds

**October 20, 2076: Nahant, MA**

* * *

"You're certain you want to go through with this?" Anna Larimer asked her youngest son as she fussed over his dress uniform. "Just because you knocked that girl up doesn't mean that you have to throw your life away on some...peasant."

Nate glared at his mother, doing his best to control his temper. "Myra's not just some girl, mother. She's the woman I love and the mother of my child. Nothing else matters."

The thin-nosed woman huffed in contempt. "It's a wonder I got your father to agree to come to this charade at all, Nathaniel. We all make mistakes, dear. You don't have to spend the rest of your life compounding them. We could have helped, if you'd just bothered to ask. But, no, you've always had to do things the hard way."

"I've always done things the right way, mother," Nate hissed. "And, by the way, I was going to marry Myra even before she got pregnant."

"You've known this...ugh...barmaid for less than a year!" Anna retorted. "Six months! There are cheeses in our refrigerator that are older than your sham of a relationship. Do you have any idea the utter humiliation you've caused your father and I? Your grandfather did not work himself to death to elevate our family just to have you bring the whole thing crashing down within a generation! You were supposed to marry a Bradford, or even a Cabot. Now, thank God your brother married before you, or I doubt his in-laws would have him."

Nate's fury boiled over, and he drew away from his mother, his good eye blazing in contempt. "I never wanted that life. I certainly never asked for it. And I'm not about to let you or father ruin the one thing I have in this world that is my own. Now, you can keep your scheming mouth shut and be there for my wedding, or you can leave and let us celebrate with the people who actually care about us as people. It's your choice."

Anna gasped. "How dare you speak to me like that?" she exclaimed. "I do care about you, Nathaniel! That's why I'm begging you to reconsider. You're a Larimer. You weren't meant to spend the rest of your life living in the suburbs. You were going to be a general. Now look at you."

"You can't seriously blame Myra for my injuries!" Nate cried, astounded. "What, is she responsible for every disaster that's befallen this family? Next, you'll be telling me how it's her fault that father took a mistress, or that Yvonne died in that car accident seven years ago. I can't believe you'd stoop to this, mother." He sighed. "Well, I suppose I can. But that does it. One more word from you, and I'll have you barred from the ceremony. Myra is having a tough enough time without having you interfere."

"I...you..." Anna was nearly purple with rage. "After all we've done for you..."

Nate glared at her. "Now, mother, are you going to behave or not? Tell me now, or I swear, if you do anything to wreck this day for us, I will never speak to you or any member of our family again. Is that understood?"

She nodded weakly. "I...I understand. Just...when this all falls apart -- and believe me, it will all fall apart -- I will take no joy in telling you that I warned you."

"Duly noted," Nate replied. "Now, if you're finished tormenting me, mother, I have to get into the sanctuary."

* * *

Nate rocked nervously on his heels as he waited for Myra to appear. The small parish of St. Thomas Aquinas was nothing like the large gothic church he'd attended most of his life. The building itself was quite simple, a country church of white wood and red brick, with small stained glass accents set into otherwise plain windows. The crucifix which hung above the altar was one of the only ornate fixtures in the building, a large brass sculpture rendered in almost lifelike detail. Still, there was a gentle majesty to the tiny sanctuary, a sort of regal peace which hung in the air like incense. Like his bride, her parish was not to be underestimated in its stark beauty. There was real power there as well.

He was disappointed but not surprised to see his side of the church nearly empty. Only his immediate family had been able to attend, after all. His real family, the men he'd proudly served with, were all still deployed or had long since left this world behind. At least his parents had the decency to stay, even if the discontent in their eyes was palpable. On the other hand, it seemed like most of the village had turned out for Myra...no, for both of them. All the men and women the Sheriff's Department could spare were in attendance, both officers and office workers. The local fishermen had even bothered to change into decent clothes for the ceremony, somewhat negating the reek of sea life that hung about them. It warmed his heart to see how beloved his bride was, though it didn't shock him. From what he'd heard from her father, the whole village had banded together after Myra's mother had been killed. They were all, in a way, her family. And now, even as Nate and Myra prepared to leave Nahant to start their journey together, they were Nate's family too.

The organ music swelled, and the gathered crowd rose to their feet to greet the Sheriff and his daughter. Martin was decked out in his dress uniform, the well-tailored blue wool a sharp contrast to the soft white of Myra's dress. Myra herself was decked out in white lace, her swollen belly obscured but not completely hidden by careful placement of seams in the fabric, as well as the large bouquet of white lilies she carried. Her long brown hair was twisted into an elegant updo, a delicate veil obscuring the upper portion of her face. Nate was breathless as he watched her draw closer. He had always thought that she was beautiful. But today, as they prepared to be joined together forever, he found her beyond stunning.

"Hi," Myra whispered as her father handed her off to Nate, a shy smile on her ruby lips.

"Hi yourself," he whispered back with a wide grin. "Last chance to run."

She snorted. "In these heels, with my swollen-ass ankles? No way. Guess you're stuck with me."

The priest cleared his throat gently. "Welcome, family and friends, to this beautiful sacrament of Holy Matrimony. Today, we stand as witnesses to the union of Nathaniel and Myra, who will, through their love and commitment to each other and to their creator, preform this sacrament themselves. This covenant between them and our God is more than just a representation of their love for each other, but is a sacred and unbreakable promise that will endure until death." He extended his hands over them in blessing. "Oh, Lord, through your goodness, you have brought this man and this woman together to love and serve one another. Please bless and protect them on this their wedding day, as well as all days to follow. Draw them ever closer to you and to each other, that they may help each other reach your side in Heaven someday. Amen."

Myra reached over and took Nate's hand, squeezing it gently, before kneeling beside him for the Liturgy of the Word.

Deputy Lewis Andrews gave the reading from Tobit, though the young man's voice cracked slightly as he glanced over at Myra, his hazel eyes brimming with tears. "Now, Lord, you know that I take this wife of mine not because of _lust,_ but for a _noble_ purpose," he proclaimed. "Call down your mercy on me and on her, and allow us to live together to a happy old age." Nate groaned internally. He wouldn't have let Myra pick the young Deputy if he'd known that the guy was in love with her. He just hoped that no one else noticed the subtle jab in his delivery.

The rest of the readings went off without a hitch, however, and soon it was time for the vows. Nate and Myra stood opposite each other, and as he looked into her lovely green eyes, Nate felt his heart pound wildly. He'd been in numerous combat situations over the years, but nothing prepared him for the surge of emotion and adrenaline that overwhelmed him at that moment.  
  
"Nathaniel and Myra," the priest said warmly, "have you come here to enter into Marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?"

"I have," they said in unison.

"Are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?"

"I am," they replied.

"Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?" the priest continued.

Myra laughed. "Well, obviously," she said, gesturing to herself.

Nate blushed, shaking his head slightly as a smattering of laughter and hisses of annoyance filled the air. "I am," he said. Of course, it was too much to ask for Myra to take this seriously. Ordinarily, he would have laughed right along with her, but he could feel his mother's glare on the back of his neck. Damn it, even after everything, that woman still had power over him.

The priest sighed. "For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of knowing Myra as long as I have, I assure you that she was just as irreverent at all of her other sacraments. Young man, you have your work cut out for you. Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church."

Nate smiled lovingly at Myra, taking her warm hands in his own. "I, Nathaniel, take you, Myra, to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life." He felt his eye mist up as the words trembled out of him. This was real. This was happening. They were going to be together forever.

Myra bit her lower lip, her hands shaking slightly in his. "I, Myra, take you, Nathaniel, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life," she replied.

The priest nodded. "May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, the God who joined together our first parents in paradise, strength and bless in Christ the consent you have declared before the Church, so that what God joins together, no one may put asunder."

"Amen," the assembly replied.

The rings were blessed and exchanged, and Nate marveled at the new sensation of a gold band on his finger. It was strange to thing that one day he would get used to the feeling of the metal against his skin. Yet that was also part of the promise he and Myra had made. As long as they both lived, these bands would remain, a symbol of the eternity they hoped to share. He felt weak at the knees as Mass continued, his hand clasped tightly around Myra's. Now, until the very end, he would never let her go.

* * *

 

**November 10, 2076: Sanctuary Hills**

Nate leaned down to kiss Myra as he came through the door, popping his newsboy cap on her head. "Hello, Mitty! Did your classes go okay today?"

She grinned up at him before pulling him down for another kiss. "As the only pregnant woman at my school," she muttered, "you'd think they'd cut me a little slack. This whole pregnancy brain thing's no joke. Can you believe Dr. Masters asked me to consider withdrawing again? I swear, I can't wait to pass the bar just so I can shove my credentials right in his fat, arrogant face!"

Nate laughed. "And I'll be right there with you, camera in hand."

Myra kissed him on the cheek, drawing him inside their home. "I know you will." She took his coat, waddling awkwardly over to the coat rack and pacing both coat and cap on it. "How was work?"

He sighed. "Well, I think I've finally gotten a handle on all the different sizes of screws we sell. Who needs forty different screws, anyway?" Working in a hardware store in Concord wasn't exactly his dream job, but it kept him busy and kept income flowing while Myra was too busy with classes and frankly too tired all the time to work. Financially, they were more than okay. Between his back pay and the money from his parents, Nate's finances were definitely in the black. But he always hated being idle, especially when Myra was working so damn hard to achieve her dreams. The least he could do was to continue working.

"I'll show you forty different screws," Myra teased, waggling her eyebrows at him.

Nate chuckled, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Promises, promises. Last time we tried, you fell asleep on top of me."

Myra yawned. "Well, it's not my fault. Blame the baby, not me!"

"What are you going to use as an excuse after he's born?" Nate said with a smirk. "I think you just don't want to admit that now that we're married, the magic is gone."

"Oh yeah?" Myra murmured, pushing him against the wall of the living room and locking her lips with his. "Well, alakazam, darling," she joked, pulling back slightly. "We've got a good twenty minutes before the meatloaf's ready, if you'd like to see what other spells we can come up with."

"As incredible as that sounds," Nate said, "I think you're less likely to pass out after dinner. Now how about you sit down on the couch and let me finish up in the kitchen for you?"

"I'll finish you up in the kitchen," she retorted with a grin.

Nate rolled his eyes. "What the heck's wrong with you, Mitty?"

"Aw, come on, you know you love it!" she chirped, smacking his butt lightly.

"I know I love you," Nate replied, stealing one more kiss before herding her over to the couch, "and that's why I want you to take it easy. The last thing you or the baby needs right now is you pushing yourself too hard. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for him, okay?"

Myra sighed in mock indignation. "Fine. I'll rest. But don't think I'm not keeping score for later."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Nate replied, heading for the kitchen. He stared at the stove in disbelief. "Hey, hun? You know the meatloaf would cook much faster if you actually turned the oven on." 


End file.
